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Monday, September 26, 2011

The
process of becoming an ordained pastor is pretty long and involved. From start
to finish, it took me nine years before the bishop laid hands on me and said,
ʺtake thou authority.ʺ But before a candidate is allowed to get too far along
in the process of becoming a pastor, she must undergo a battery of
psychological tests, including a review of the results of these tests with the
conference psychologist. The tests involve hundreds of questions as specific as
whether you preferred President Washington or President Lincoln, and as vague
as whether you hear “voices” – always a tricky question for those answering a
call from God! I’ll admit I was suspicious of the testing process – wondering
what some of these questions could possibly tell anyone about me, and frankly,
not wanting someone to feel like theyknew me so well because of some multiple choice test I filled out rather
than because they actually took the time to get to know me. When I met with the
conference psychologist to review my results, my skepticism shone through – the
test revealed among other things that I was a defensive test-taker, guarded in
my answers! Another thing it revealed was that I also have a tendency to
question authority figures. Apparently, I have authority issues. My reaction to
the news, was, as revealed, to be a bit defensive and skeptical. Oh please. I
don’t have issues with authority figures. What does this psychologist know?

But, my mother might tell you a different story. Not about issues between the
two of us, but about my relationship with my sixth grade teacher, for example.
Apparently, though I barely have a recollection of it myself, apparently I had
gotten into the habit in sixth grade of publicly correcting my teacher when he
was wrong. Surprisingly, he didn’t like this, and I got a note home about it.
Now, I liked my sixth grade teacher a lot. I still remember him as one of my
favorites. But I figured he was into sharing authority since he purposely left
the answer book out for us to check our own homework responses. He gave an inch,
I took a mile. I figured he wouldn’t mind a little help when I saw him giving a
wrong response. Turns out, I was the one who was wrong in that
situation! OK. Maybe I have a small issue with authority
figures.

But, I think we all have some authority
issues, or at least, questions about authority. Should someone have authority
solely because of the position he holds? Does someone earn our respect and
deference just because she is in charge of something? Over the years, I have
had a deep admiration for some of my professors and teachers and mentors – but
not because of their titles. Instead, I’ve admired and respected them because
of an authority earned by intelligence, scholarship,
compassion, dedication. Still, though, I certainly have learned since sixth
grade that some authority figures simply have to be followed, obeyed, simply
because of the position they hold, and that’s that. It won’t do me any good to
argue with a police officer because I don’t respect her authority, right? The
reality is that in our society, some people have authority simply because of
the position they hold, and because we, as a community – a social community or
a faith community – we have decided together to give them such authority for
the good of the whole. So, I have authority in this church on
some matters, not because of who I am personally, but because of the role I
fill – I am the pastor. Hopefully, over time, I have authority here because I
earn it – you have known me for a couple of years now, and theoretically, by
now you trust from experience and relationship that you can entrust me with the
authority of being your pastor. But when I first arrived, and you didn’t know
me at all, you still were asked as a congregation to trust in my authority, weren’t
you – just based on the fact that I was sent here through a denominational
system in whose authority you put some trust? So many authority issues!

Authority
is a key element in today's gospel lesson. Our scene takes place very near the
end of the gospel of Matthew. In fact, it occurs during the last days of Jesus'
life – he is already in Jerusalem, after being welcomed into Jerusalem with
triumph and palms waving. The time is short. In this text, Jesus has entered
into the temple, and is teaching. And the chief priests and elders come up to him
and say, ʺhey, who gave you authority
to do these things?ʺ In other words, what gives you the right to come in here
and teach as if you knew what you were talking about? Maybe you have been
asked, or even asked someone that before in the heat of a conflict. What gives
you the right to do that? Who put you
in charge? Or: you aren’t the boss of me!

Jesus isn’t willing to just play their game and answer their
questions. Or, maybe you could say he just plays the game better than they do,
because he turns it around on them, and says he will absolutely answer their
question – if they can answer his first, which is also about authority: The
baptism of John, cousin of Jesus – did that come from heaven, or was it of human
origin? The leaders debate; if they say from heaven, from God, Jesus will say,
ʺthen why didn’t you believe him?ʺ But if we say of human origin, the people
will be mad at us, because they think of John as a prophet. And they definitely
didn’t want to risk the anger of the crowds. So they are trapped, and have to
answer: We don’t know. Jesus has managed to make these people who are supposed to be religious authorities
look pretty silly – they have to admit before all these people in the temple that
they don’t know the answer – they can’t say whether John was legit or not. And
so, Jesus concludes, I won’t tell you about the source of my authority either.

Then Jesus tells them a little mini-parable. Two sons are
asked by their father to go and work in his vineyard. One son says no, but then
later changes his mind and goes to work anyway. The other says yes, but then
never goes to work. Which did the will of the father, Jesus asks? Of course, his
audience must admit, the one who actually made it to the vineyard, regardless
of what he said he would do, was the one who did his parent's will. Jesus
concludes saying that prostitutes and tax collectors will get to the kingdom of
God before the priests and elders, because they believed, but the religious leaders
won’t change their behavior or beliefs even when it becomes clear that they are
in the wrong. In fact, when Jesus says that they won’t change their minds, the
word he uses is what the bible usually translates as repent. The religious leaders just won’t repent, even when they
realize they are wrong.

The chief priests, the elders, and the other religious leaders
Jesus comes into conflict with in the scriptures, like the Pharisees and
scribes – Jesus isn’t saying that their authority shouldn’t be respected, in
principle. In fact, in places in the gospels, he urges people to listen to what
they teach, just not to follow what they do. No, I think Jesus respects the
role they are meant to play – studying God's words, carrying out the rituals of
the faith handed down for generations. But, eventually, their lives have to
bear out the authority with which they’ve been entrusted.

I remember my mother once telling me about a friend of hers
whose daughter had gotten in trouble on the bus at school, along with another young
person. The woman’s daughter was a church-going child from a fairly well-to-do
family, and the other child in trouble was just the opposite. When relaying the
story, my mom’s friend said, ʺWell, at least I know that my daughter knew better, so that gives me comfort.ʺ My mom said to her,
ʺBut doesn’t that make it worse? If the other kid didn’t know better, he can hardly be blamed for his behavior. But
your child knew what was right, and
still chose to misbehave.ʺ Naturally, my mom's wisdom did not endear her to her
friend. But she had a good point, no? I think this is how Jesus feels about the
religious leaders – they are supposed to know better! They have been given authority.
And yet, they are like the son who says yes to hard work, but doesn’t actually carry
out on the good behavior.

Whenever we read about the religious leaders in the gospels,
we have to put ourselves in their roles
to hear Jesus' message for us, because they, like it or not, are who we are
most like, rather than the prostitutes and tax collectors! We are the church-goers,
who have learned the stories, heard the gospel, have taken membership vows to
say we believe certain things, and so on. So we have to answer Jesus' tough questions.

When
have we made commitments to God, only to fail on the follow through? How many
times have you made promises to God that for one reason or another, you have
not kept? And how often do you find yourself responding to God when you had
already told God “no?” Probably, if we are honest, we have more examples of saying yes to God and not acting than saying no and acting out a yes. Why is that? The chief priests knew
the right answers in their hearts, but were unwilling to act because of image,
because of stubbornness, because they wanted to keep their power. But in the
end, Jesus made their supposed authority look pretty silly.

What
about us? Why do we not follow through on what we say we will do, both in our
human relationships and in our relationship with God? Is it really a case of
good intentions gone awry, as I think we want to believe, or is something more
at work here, some deeper issue emerging that we need to confront? Theologian
Søren Kierkegaard wrote, “When you say “Yes” or promise something, you can very
easily deceive yourself and others also, as if you had already done what you
promised. It is easy to think that by making a promise you have at least done
part of what you promised to do, as if the promise itself were something of
value. Not at all! In fact, when you do not do what you promise, it is a long
way back to the truth. Beware! The “Yes” of promise keeping is sleep-inducing.
An honest “No” possesses much more promise. It can stimulate; repentance may
not be far away. He who says “No,” becomes almost afraid of himself. But
[those] who [say] “Yes, I will,” [are] all too pleased with [themselves]. The
world is quite inclined – even eager – to make promises, for a promise appears
very fine at the moment – it inspires! Yet for this very
reason the eternal is suspicious of promises.”(1)

For Jesus, things, as usual, come back to a question of words and actions. One
pastor reminds us that “Jesus doesn't divide people up into believers and
atheists. Jesus divides people into those who act and those who don't act.” (2)
The religious folk in the temple had a lot to say about what
was right. They were careful to study the scriptures, and they spent a lot of
time in the temple, and they tried to figure out, in great detail, how to apply
to scriptures for daily living. Yet, they were so sure they had things right,
that they became unwilling to examine their lives to see if they were living
what they were teaching, practicing what they were preaching. And they were
unwilling to repent, and get back to work. Their words said yes, and their
lives said no, as somehow they managed to overlook real ways to love God,
active ways to love neighbor.

Jesus
says that it isn’t the religious folk who are first in the kingdom of heaven.
It is those who are most open to turning their lives around who are first in
line, those who take action when Jesus says, “follow me.” Jesus doesn’t say ʺbelieve
in meʺ - he says, ʺfollow me.ʺ As people of faith, do we have authority? What
will our actions, our living say about us?

A parent
had two children. The parent went to the first and said, “Child, go out and
work for me today.” The child answered, “I will not,” but later, had a change
of mind and went out and worked. The parent said to the second child and said
the same, and the child answered, “Of course, I’ll go and work,” but then did
not go after all. Which of these two did the will of the parent? They said, the
first.

Monday, September 19, 2011

A couple weeks ago, I told you all that I had a lot more to say to you about God and fairness. Well, today is that lucky day!
Let me tell you a little story from my childhood. I am blessed to have a family
that is well-educated. My mother, working as a nurse, always had a job, if not
two, and by the time I was say, in junior high and high school, my family had a
fairly stable middle class financial situation. But it took us a long time to get
there. My early years were spent in the small country village of Westernville,
and my father was out of work off and on from the time I was two until I was in
fifth grade or so. That is another story to tell, but the point is, we were a
poor family. We used food stamps, we received help from my grandparents, and we
received one of the food baskets we helped put together at church. Westernville
was too small for its own elementary school – we were bused to Rome for school,
and as geography would have it, relatively poor Westernville kids went to school
with kids from some of the wealthier parts of Rome.

Somehow, it doesn’t take many years of life to learn the
different between rich and poor and to assign value judgments – and poor is
definitely not cool. The most popular girl in school, Kelly, child of a former
professional baseball player and one of the teachers at school, who lived in a house
that had more floors than I could count – well, she made my life pretty
miserable sometimes. I remember most vividly that for my sixth grade birthday,
my brother Jim took me to the mall and let me spend $100 of his hard earned
money. It was a huge gift to me. In addition to Mariah Carey and Wilson Phillips
single cassette tapes, among other things, my major purchase was a new outfit –
a Skidz brand t-shirt and shorts. Anyone remember those? They were all the rage,
and I knew, for once, I would be at school with the right clothes. When I arrived
at school the next day, Kelly immediately made fun of me – because even though I
had the right brand, I had purchased them from JCPenney, and not Tops N
Bottoms, the cool store. I just couldn’t seem to win.

The worst thing was though, that I was a kid who attended
church every week, and I read my bible, and knew it pretty well, and I knew
about this parable, and I knew pretty much what it meant. I knew this parable
meant that Kelly, as mean as she was, as bad as she made me and other people
feel – I knew Kelly was just as loved by God as I was, and that Kelly could
live her life as she was and still get God's grace and all the benefits of our generous
God if she wanted them. I actually thought about that a lot. And I knew that that
was just. not. fair.

This
parable, sometimes known as the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard, is taught
by Jesus following another familiar scene. A rich young man had approached
Jesus and asked about getting into the kingdom of heaven. Jesus told him to
sell all his stuff and give it to the poor, and the man went away disappointed.
Jesus then said to the disciples that it was harder for a rich man to enter the
kingdom of God than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. But, Jesus
said, with God, anything is possible. Then Peter says, in reply, the scriptures
tell us, ‘Look, we have left everything and followed you. What then will we
have?’ Peter wants to know what exactly the disciples are in for. Jesus tells them
they will receive eternal life, but that the first are last and the last are
first. And then he tells this parable.

A
landowner goes out in the morning to hire laborers for the vineyard. He offers
them “whatever is right” for a day of labor. He goes out again at noon and at 3
and at 5, and hires more and more laborers. At the end of the day, the
landowner pays them all a day’s wage. All of them. That means that the workers
who have worked 10 hours, 8 hours, 5 hours, and 2 hours all get the same
paycheck at the end of the day. Naturally, this upsets some of the workers. The
workers who worked all day were suddenly less happy with the wage they had
received, because those who worked only one hour also received the same salary.
But the landowner won’t hear it: “Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not
agree me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to
give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I
choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?”
Jesus concludes, “So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

This
parable goes against everything we stand for and value in a society like ours.
Here, you get what you work for, or at least we value such an ideal. We like
things to be fair. We care about equality and equity. We know it isn’t right
for people to get the same pay for such drastically different amounts of work.
Who would agree to such a thing? Who wouldn’t be resentful of others who had it
so easy, who hardly had to do anything to get such a reward. “I choose to give
to this last the same as I give to you.” Do we feel the same sense of outrage
if we remember that this parable is about the kingdom of heaven and about God’s
grace?

I think
we have two responses to this parable that we don’t want to admit to ourselves.
The first is this: I think we would say that we know what grace is. Goodness
knows I talk about it enough, and talk about what it is, and our hymns are
about grace, and our liturgies and our prayers and our sacraments – all about grace.
And what do we know about grace? I hope that you have learned that grace is God's
gift to us, it is free, without price, God's unconditional – that is without conditions! – love, which is
poured out on everyone. That is grace.
I hope that sounds familiar! But, the thing is, I don’t know if we believe in grace. Oh, I think we believe
in it in an abstract way. We believe in it as a concept, a theory. But in
practice? I am not convinced we really believe in grace – not fully, anyway.

I think,
in our hearts, in our behavior, we are really trying, still, to earn grace, to make sure we are doing what
is good enough to be loved by God. Maybe we don’t feel that we are good enough to
be loved. So we try hard to be good enough. And somehow, we feel like, if at
least we are better than the next person,
if we are better than someone, than somehow we
are a bit closer to God. We end up trying to get close to God by pushing others
farther away, instead of by actually drawing close ourselves. We know from our
own experience that love is inexplicable – who can explain why we love who we
love? And yet, we can’t accept that God loves us. All of us.

So here is our second response to the parable. If we are
finally convinced, at last, that God is gonna give the made elementary school
rotten for everyone Kellys of the world as much love and grace as the awesomely
well-behaved, life-long, faithful, didn’t even have delinquent college years
Beths of the world, which, as we have established, is so unfair, then I think we start to have this creeping-into-our-minds
question. Why do we bother trying so hard to be good and to live a good life? Why
do we struggle so much to follow God's plans for us, God's commands for us, when
other people seem to do what they want, and end up with the same reward as we do? If we get God's grace either
way, why not live a little? Party a little? Go a little crazy? Why this struggle
for following God, if God will ultimately find us and lavish us with grace anyway?

Again, our
response reveals what we really believe: that we see grace as a reward for good
behavior and not an outright gift. Grace is not a prize that we get, but
sometimes it seems that the only reason we are following God is because of the
reward (or fine, gift, we might get
out of it at the end.) When Jesus talks about abundant life, living water,
bread of life, all that he offers, he is talking about what we can claim, the
life we can live not in some distant future, but rightnow if we will walk
with God who loves us. But don’t we sometimes treat these offers like chores we
must complete to get to the end of the game and win the prize?

We
are getting mixed up. The life God offers is meant to fill us up, fulfill us beyond our imagining. When
push comes to shove, even though being a disciple is sometimes hard and
challenging and seemingly impossible, I wouldn’t trade it in for a minute. I
would never want to struggle with that emptiness, with that search for meaning,
without knowing the love of God. I would never want to feel so groundless. The life
God offers us is truly good and abundant. Laboring longer in God's vineyard is not
a punishment, but in itself a blessing, being part of God's kingdom now, right here,
today, on this earth, in this time.

No, God is not at all interested in being fair. God is interested
in justice. God is interested in mercy and compassion. God is interested in our
abundant lives. God is interested in loving each and every single precious person
in creation. But God definitely does not play fair. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Where were you when
it happened? That is a question you might have been asked this week. Where were
you on 9-11-01 when you head the news? I was in seminary. I had just started my
internship at our United Methodist interfaith agency, located in the Upper West
Side of Manhattan – I worked on Mondays and Fridays, and had put in just two
days before September 11th. I was feeling pretty brave about going
to work in the big city, riding the trains and the subway, being part of the
commuter crowd. Thankfully, I was not in Manhattan on 9-11. I had been the day
before.

On the morning of the 11th, I, not surprisingly to those of you who
know me well, was still asleep when the first plane hit the towers. Soon after,
I was up and at the bookstore, when I heard a radio report saying something
about a plane and a building, but I didn’t pay it much attention. I then went
to the library, where I overheard a woman telling a work-study student that it
was ok if he didn’t feel like working that day. And I couldn’t log onto cnn.com
on the computers. But I still didn’t know what was happening. It wasn’t until I
made my way to Seminary Hall, and began talking with other students, that I
realized exactly what was happening. And so eventually the fear set in, the
sadness, the anxiety. In the coming weeks, I found it hard to get over my fear
of going back to the city for work, hard to relax on public transportation,
hard to operate through fire drills at my office building there. And I found it
hard to watch how we reacted as a nation, and as a world community to these
events, how quickly the climate of the world changed. Today you’ll still hear
the phrase, “in a post 9-11 world . . . ʺ

Into the
midst of this day, ten years later, our lectionary, our schedule of scriptures,
brings us a passage about forgiveness, and it is hard for me not to marvel at the
mystery of how God is at work even in which Bible text we are meant to read when.
It is certainly no mistake. Our passage from Matthew today comes in the middle
of a series of teachings from Jesus. The disciples have asked Jesus some
questions, and he has responded, teaching about not being stumbling blocks for
one another, talking about it being better to enter God's kingdom without a
foot or hand rather than to stumble and stray because of it. He speaks about
conflict in the community, recommending a course of action if someone has
sinned against you. And then, perhaps in response to this teaching, Peter asks
Jesus: ʺLord, if another member of the faith community sins against me, how
often should I forgive? As many as seven times?ʺ Now, the way Peter asks his
question gives you an idea that he thinks he is being pretty broad in his suggested
response. As many as seven times? Peter
asks and lets Jesus know he thinks seven times is a lot. See, Peter is learning, even though he stumbles. He is learning
from Jesus and has learned that Jesus is pretty extravagant sometimes – not when
it comes to having things and possessions and money. But extravagant about his
relationships with others. Jesus is pretty extravagant with his compassion,
justice, and mercy. Always going farther than anyone else was prepared to go. Peter,
I suspect, thinks he will impress Jesus, by saying he suspects you might need
to forgive someone up to seven times if they sin against you! Seven times!

Jesus replies,
“Nice try, Peter. Try seventy seven times. Seventy seven.” In other words, stop
counting how many times you have forgiven, and then you are on the right track.
And then Jesus tells a parable, about the kingdom of heaven, saying, “It’s like
this. A king wanted to settle his debts. He called forward a slave who owed him
10,000 talents. The slave could not pay, so the king prepared to sell the
slave, his family, and his possessions to make the payment. But the slave
begged for mercy and patience, promising to pay. The king had mercy and cancelled the entire debt and released
the slave, beyond what the slave asked for. But later, the same slave
encounters a peer who owes him a small sum of money, a hundred denarii. He
violently demands payment, and when his peer can’t pay, and begs for mercy, the
slave denies him mercy, and has him thrown in prison. When the king finds out
about it, he calls the slave before him. ‘How could you not show mercy to your
fellow slave, as I showed you mercy?’ Finally, the king hands the slave over
and requires payment for the debt.” Jesus concludes, saying that this is how it
will be with us if we do not forgive one another.

When we say the Lord's prayer here at First United, we
say, ʺforgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.ʺ We say it that way in
particular to honor our Presbyterian heritage, as we honor ourMethodist history in other ways, like through
our hymnal choice. I grew up saying trespass and trespasses in the Lord's Prayer,
and it took me a while to get the hang of saying debts and debtors, especially
when I am still often at conference events that require me to switch back to
trespasses! But I have to tell you, having to remember where I am and which words I am supposed to say each
time I pray the prayer has helped me to think about it more deeply when I pray,
instead of running quickly through familiar words. I have to really think about
what I am saying every time. And what am I saying? Forgive us our debts, as we forgive
our debtors.

There has certainly been enough talk about debt, lately, hasn’t
there? We know a little more about national debt and debt ceilings and all that
than most of us probably ever knew before. Or at least we've worried about it more
than usual. But the debt we are probably most familiar with is our own. Who are
you in debt to? And is anyone in debt to you? We probably know that pretty well
too. But think particularly about to whom you are in debt – who do you owe? Most of us, unless we are
extraordinarily lucky, are in debt to someone financially. Student loans – I am
pretty sure I will have those until I am too old to remember what I even
studied in college. Car payments, or mortgage payments. Credit cards. Taxes. Utility
bills. Rent. To whom are you in debt, and for what? And then, imagine, imagine that
your creditor, whoever you owe simply
cancels your debt. Not that you
suddenly have so much money you can pay off everything you owe. No, but imagine
that your debt is just gone, cancelled. What does that feel like? Can you feel
the weight that is lifted? The anxiety, the stress, the worry that would be
just gone. No more burden.

How often
should I forgive? Cancel someone's debts? Forgiveness is a tricky thing, isn’t it?
We’re willing to go only so far before we start wanting to know about limits –
how much, how often, who must we forgive and in what circumstances? Today’s
world demands answers to these questions. Can we forgive even when forgiveness
entails life and death situations? Do you believe such extreme forgiveness is
possible? What shapes will forgiveness take when we think of the tragedy of
September 11th? And all these questions about human forgiveness lead
us to God’s forgiveness. Can God forgive us? Does God forgive all sins
from all sinners? What are the conditions of forgiveness? Are there conditions? Are there
conditions to God canceling the debt of our sinfulness? Our believing in the
possibility of forgiveness works both ways. If we believe that human
forgiveness is possible, then forgiveness from God is certain. And in order for
us to believe that we are truly forgiven and reconciled people, truly forgiven
by God and given the chance, again, for right relationship with God, then we
must also believe in the possibility of human forgiveness, reconciliation in
human relationships.

How should we forgive? Let me say briefly but clearly what
I don’t think Jesus is saying here
about forgiveness. His call for our compassion and bottomless forgiveness is
not a call for people to remain trapped in abusive relationships, or a call for
victims of violence to remain victims
of violence. God wants wholeness for
all of us. Forgiveness comes in the simple and complicated form of canceling the
debt of wrong-doing done against us, letting go of what is owed to us by another.

But let me tell you what else I really don’t think Jesus
is talking about. Jesus isn’t really addressing his teaching to those who need
to ask for forgiveness. This passage isn’t about, primarily, those who are
sinners (although that is really all of us, mind you), those who stand in need
of forgiveness (again, all of us, really.) Jesus has lots to say about our
sinners and how we sin, but this isn’t it. This
passage is about those of us who feel someone owes us something, those of us who
feel someone is in our debt, those of us who feel someone needs to seek out our
forgiveness. Peter wants to know how much forgiveness he has to pay out. That is what prompts Jesusʹ teaching.
Ultimately, we can only be responsible for our own actions. You can only decide
whether or not you will forgive. You can’t control whether or not someone feels
sorry for wronging you, whether they have done enough to make up for hurting
you, or even how they will behave in the future, if they really mean their apology,
if they will hurt you again or not. Jesus doesn’t really make comment on any of
these questions. Because you can only choose how you will behave when someone
is in your debt. How often do we forgive? Seven times? Seventy-seven times. Jesus is calling us to forgive like he does,
like God does – extravagantly, recklessly, without counting up the cost and how
much we were owed and how much debt we cancelled.

In these next few weeks, we are looking at what I have
been thinking of as God-values. God has a way of taking our values and turning
them inside out and showing us how much we have missed the mark, how much richer
our lives would be if we could begin to see and act with God's eyes and heart. I
think we look at someone owing us a debt, and we think of that as power – when
we are owed something, it gives us a sense of power over, even if we have that power because we have been wronged. But
Jesus finds power, strength, life in letting
go of one kind of power to take up another. Jesus, instead of trying to show
off his strength, always makes himself more vulnerable. Even on the cross, dying,
at his most vulnerable, Jesus exposes his heart to the world even more, speaking
of forgiveness even as he is put to death. There is a different, deeper kind of
strength and power in laying our hearts bear, emptying our souls of the resentment
we feel toward those who have harmed us. Forgiveness is a God-value, a gift from
God to us, and a gift that continues to bless us when we share it with others.

We’re
given a reminder, even as we pray familiar words: God, forgive us our debts, as
we forgive our debtors. God asks for us to share with others the same
forgiveness with which God blesses us. Is it easy work? No. Like Peter, we want
to know – have we done enough yet? But God promises us that practicing
forgiveness is life-giving, where withholding forgiveness only hurts us. There
is much in this world to forgive. There is much for which we seek forgiveness. So we struggle, we try harder, both in
forgiving those who have sinned against us, and in asking forgiveness where we
have caused harm. But wherever we find ourselves in our struggles, we can trust
that we find ourselves free of debt, completely covered by God’s boundless
forgiveness. Let us go, and live likewise. Amen.